
ine 

Turnpike 

Tavern 



The Turnpike Tavern 



AND OTHER VERSE 



BY 



JAMES PLAISTED WEBBER 



''ToM .... 
A certain roadside in thy mtntoryy 



EXETER, NEW HAMPSHIRE 
I9II 



ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

Five of these poems, 'Long Shore, May 
Eve, The Cape Light, The Harbour 
Buoy, and Junetide, have appeared in 
The Youth's Companion. Thanks are due 
the publishers for permission to reprint. 



THE TURNPIKE TAVERN 



THE TURNPIKE TAVERN 

Tts roof -tree is fallen ; 

Its doors, all unhung ; 
The bell 'neath the gateway 
Has never a tongue ; 

On the well-beaten wheel-track 

Wild briers encroach, 
Where long, long ago, 

Rolled the Royal Mail coach ; 

But the crack of the whip. 
And the blast of the horn 

Have long died away 
Into silence forlorn. 

By the well in the courtyard 
In twain lies the sweep ; 

Mine host and his bar-maid 
Have long been asleep. 

And Jock no more hearkens 

The clatter of hoofs, 
The rumble of wheels — 

Nor his master's reproofs ; 

And the creak of the sign-board, 

Askew on its post. 
With its rust-begnawed hinge, 

Seems the sigh of a ghost. 



'LONG SHORE 

'T^HE beach mists smoke in the morning sun, 
"*• And the sea 's as blue as blue can be — 
A ship the lighthouse island rounds, 
And the voices of sailors cheerily ring 
Over the waves to me. 

Right merrily rattle the anchor chains 
Ere to'gallant sails are furled ; 
From the " davy " drops the captain's gig, 
And the bearded sailors step ashore 
As from another world. 

And I wonder, a-watching the sailors come 
Home from the deep blue sea, 
If their voices ring as cheerily, 
If the cables rattle as merrily. 
If their lives seem full of mystery 
To them as they do to me. 



MAY EVE 

' I ^HE twilight mist sweeps from the sea, around the hills, 

And in the hollow, o'er the meadow, violet-pied. 
In undulating beats, the cry of whippoorwills 

Rings underneath the crescent moon of later May. 
Alone, with that sad cry from out that veil, 

I seem to hear the very spirit of the dusk, 
Like to a hooded prophetess, adown the gale. 

Chant mournfully of days agone, of days to be. 



TE DEUM LAUDAMUS 

"^JoT simply surpliced choristers who chant 

Gregorians in the oak-stalled Gothic choir, 
The Ear Attentive hears, but strife of brothels, 
Cries of starved children, piteous wail on wail, 
A wretched woman sobbing in the dark. 



DOONE VALLEY 

\ X 7here purple heathered moorland hills arise 

In Devonshire, this sunny afternoon, 
Bageworthy Water skirts 'neath summer skies 

The track once footed by the lawless Doone : 
While I, o'er seas, to seek that lonely vale. 

Their ruined cots, their bleak domains, forbid, 
Turn the poetic page of Blackmore's tale, 

And bless again his dream of '♦ girt Jan Ridd." 



EPITAPHS FROM A CLOISTER 



VERGER 

A HUMOROUS guide to storied urns, 
A garrulous, cheerful elf, 
I know at length just how it feels 
To lie in one myself. 

BEADSMAN 

I held the post my father held, 
His father held ere he did ; 

Now I have gone the gate they went. 
My son shall serve as we did. 



Had I been bishop of this see 
(Which lack was not my fault), 

In the cathedral's self I 'd lie. 
Not in this cloister vault. 

RESTORER 

Through misdirected zeal, I brought 

To ultimate disaster. 
What frantic, Puritanic rage 

But hid with paint and plaster. 

CHOIRMASTER 

As man and boy I sang His praise 
For three score years and ten, 

And many generations taught 
Of singing lads and men. 



CANON PRECENTOR 

My life was punctual as the clock 

The major third of which 
At matins and at evensong 

Was my reciting pitch. 

ORGAN-BLOWER 

'T was not for Sundays that I longed, 
Full choral services the while, 

But blessed Fridays, when they sang 
In their capella style. 

CHORISTER 

I sought to bring by heavenly words, 
Whose sense I scarce could ween, 

Nearer to God the souls of men 
Than chaplain did or dean. 



f 



VISION • 

"jV^Y little lad came in from play last eve, 

His face like Stephen's and his tongue aflame 
All day he 'd played within the school-house close, 
Alone, for Easter holidays were come ; 
Alone, till suddenly amid the glow 
Of sunset when the blazoned window flared, 
He saw an angel from the chapel fly, 
Soar upward unto God and disappear. 

Believe ? O wherefore should I doubt that He 
Who said, "The pure in heart, they shall see God," 
Hath shown my little lad so innocent 
And full of faith at least His messenger ? 



A NIGHT OF MARCH 

'^Jo moon ; but all the blue-black sky of night 

Is harnessed with trappings as of gold ; 
And, now, as 't were the chinking of chain-mail, 

I heard the wind sweep through the leafless wold. 
What host would'st thou encounter. Night of March, 

With sportive joust, or leaguer serious? — 
Thou heed'st my challenge not, but ridest on, 

Majestically stern, imperious. 



THE ROSE VENDER 

TTT'hat hast thou to do with roses, 

^ ^ Thou, so gaunt and old, 
Beetle-browed, with eyes sinister, 
Mouth that 's over bold ? 

Purple heather I have purchased 

Of a Highland lass, 
Edelweiss of Alpine laddie 

At the Brenner Pass. 

Switzer lad and Scottish lassie 

With their flowers agree ; 
But thou man of evil visage, 

What 's a rose to thee ? 



10 



'•AND STILL FROM YEAR TO YEAR 
I WATCHED HER AGE" 

A ND Still from year to year I watched her age, 

Turning with hand too slow the lab'rous wheel, 
Or clicking through the violet even-end 
The needle with its never-ending yam ; 
Line upon line was added to that brow. 
As day by day the sea-tide leaves its toll 
Upon the sandy shore ; and day by day 
More knotted grew those hands that oft for me 
Had toiled far into night. Dear Mother, mine, 
Think you, I ne'er did note thy growing years, 
Nor reverenced them, because I never spoke 
The word that bared the heart ? O, now accept 
My homage full in fee for all thy tears. 
Thy labors, and thy prayers poured forth for me. 



THE BELL AT P£RE LA CHAISE 

' I ^HE knell of the passing bell 

^ At the gate of Pere la Chaise, 
Tolling a sad farewell, 

The knell of the passing bell. 
As dead passed 'mid dead to dwell, 

Still rings in mine ear for days — 
That knell of the passing bell 

At the gate of P^re la Chaise. 



12 



THE CAPE LIGHT 

"\1I7'hen twilight falls, I ope my eye ; 

The watches four begin. 
And with the darkness comes to-night 

The fog-wrack sweeping in. 
The stars that bloom in fields of sky, 

The moon that rides full blown. 
My dear companions of the dark, 

Leave me to-night alone. 

Drawn by my light from out the dark, 

Not knowing what they seek, 
The wild birds wheeling round my lamp, 

Brush with their wings my cheek. 
The tide from out the river's mouth 

That empties at my base, 
Meets mad the open sea to-night ; 

Its salt spray smites my face. 

I cannot see abaft, afore. 

To port, or starboard side. 
The ship that groping up the gloom, 

I trust somehow to guide ; 
Yea, guide her, though I see her not, 

Nor hear if they have cheered : 
** Two points off port — the harbor-light 1 

The cape, be praised, is cleared." 



13 



"DEAR LAD, WHOSE HEART IS OVER 
SEAS " 

T^ EAR lad, whose heart is over seas, 

Upon the Salisbury downs, 
Or in some Devon hedgerow lane. 

Or Warwickshire's quaint towns, 
Look here upon this poppy pressed, 

Its petals crimson yet ; 
*T was culled from a cathedral close 

In happy Somerset ; 
And here 's a tiny buttercup 

At Ludlow plucked one noon ; 
And here a spray of heather blue 

From banks of Bonnie Doon. 
Yea ! " take the flower and turn the hour," 

Whose spirit wanders down 
Some hedgerow lane 'twixt poppy fields, 

Or mediaeval town. 



14 



MIRAGE 

"C^ROM ocean mist and summer skies, 
As 'neath a necromancer's sway, 
With turrets, domes, and minarets. 
Full fair a score of leagues away, 
Behold the elfin city rise ! 

Across the waves peals on the breeze 
The clang as of cathedral bells, 

The boom as of the salvo gun. 
The tumult as of citadels 

For heroes home from over seas. 

Amid the shifting sheen and mist 

Gay flags and splendid banners wave ; 

And brands and helmets flash and shine 
From passing armies of the brave, 

Down streets bewailed with amethyst. 

Then veers the flaw ; the mist wracks flee ; 

The fairy fabric rends apart ; 
And into ocean, into air. 

Melt turrets, domes, and crowded mart ; 
Dies down the wind the jubilee. 



IS 



THE HARBOUR BUOY 

'TpHE red-capped spar-buoy dips and bobs 
In the teeth of the swirling tides ; 

With wrench and pull, 

At ebb and full, 
It tugs, and tugging, sobs : 

•* It 's oh ! to see the ships stand out, 
The bellying topsails flap ; 

The bell to hear, 

And the sailors' cheer, 
And the boatswain's pipe and shout. 

"Yet never a point to north or south, 
And never to east or west. 
With might and main. 
The* I tug my chain. 
To swerve from the harbour's mouth ! " 

And then the Storm-Wind shrieks like grief ; 
The rust-gnawed iron yields ; 
And the buoy floats free — 
But on the lee 
A ship breaks on the reef. 



i6 



THE AUCTION 

' I ^HEY are selling my priceless treasure, 
Selling my golden youth, 

And Father Time, 

With the auctioneer's rhyme. 
Cries, " Going, going, gone ! 

" Gone to the highest bidder, 
Sold to Eternity ! " 

As I stand in the throng 

And list to that song 
Of " Going, going, gone ! " 

Listen with naught to proffer, 
Gold, nor labor, nor love, 

Which may move his ruth 

To spare my youth, 
Which is going, going, gone. 



"SOLITARY LIETH THE CITY" 

"\ T rHEN I behold her cargoes outward bound, 

But fail to see her argosies return, 
And note the lessening of her olden store, 
No Spring replenishing the Autumn past, 
I wonder what will be her latter end : — 
No gorgeous ruin as of capitals, 
Persepolis or ancient Nineveh, 
But like the dust that heaps their buried forms. 
The shifting sand shall hide her utter shame. 



i8 



QUATRAIN 

"D ACK Steals the slow returning tide 

Over the marsh afar, 
Making the rank unseemly flats 
The mirror for a star. 



19 



A-VOYAGING 

Ohip a-standing out to sea, 

Whither may your journey be ? 
To the land of far Cathay ; 
Or to nearer Paraguay ? 
Will you see the Cross ride high 
Underneath a Southern sky ; 
Or be whirled in mad typhoon 
Past the Mountains of the Moon ; 
Then repair for sea again 
In some sunny port of Spain ? 

Ship a-standing out to sea, 
Would that I could go with thee I 
Wander idly up and down 
Many a quaint, old, foreign town ; 
But when night shuts down at last, 
Find me home, all safe and fast ! 



20 



JUNETIDE 

' I ^HE mead with buttercups o'erflows, 

^ A field of cloth of gold, 
While in my dooryard wither'd globes 

Of dandelions, late so bold, 
Are shattered by each breeze that blows. 

A week ago the lilacs bloomed ; 

The orioles from maples call, 
A-showering music down the lane ; 

While elm-tree seeds like snowflakes fall 
And ev'ry chestnut bough is plumed. 

The heart is filled on days like these 

With joy and eke with pain, 
For all around us something speaks 

Of beauty coming with each rain, 
Of beauty passing with each breeze. 



A SONG OF CHILDHOOD 

CiNG a song of childhood, 

On the brook afloat, 
Skimming down the river 

In a golden boat ; 
Shouldering the willow, 

Poling off the shoal. 
Gliding past the meadow 

To the distant goal. 

Now we leave the brooklet. 

Strike the river wide. 
Hurrying to the ocean 

O'er the swirling tide, 
Past the humming cities. 

Past the wharves and slips, 
Onward to the ocean 

With the gallant ships. 

Sing a song of childhood, 

Now the day is done ; 
Westward o'er the water 

Sinks the golden sun ; 
Sing a song of childhood. 

Sing the by-gone day. 
Meadow-brook and homeland 

Far, so far away. 



22 



THE ORPHAN 

5 ' I ^ WAS early spring with you, lad, 
**■ When he fared on his way ; 

Your summer 's yet to come, lad. 
Whose year is at the May ; 

And you must travel long, lad, — 
Perchance to autumn cold — 

Ere you shall clasp again, lad. 
The hand you clasped of old. 



23 



DEC 15 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



DEC J5 i^n 



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